


What Happened Between You

by fugues_of_our_own



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Season/Series 03, before Will receives Hannibal's letter about the Red Dragon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6107068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fugues_of_our_own/pseuds/fugues_of_our_own
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly asks Will to open up about the nature of his and Hannibal's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why not tell me everything

**Author's Note:**

> All due respect to the great Molly. She worked with what she got.

He drifted a hand into her hair and scrunched it absently. He was grateful for her presence. She made it possible to be alone. His dick relaxed into her warm hand.

‘Will? Is that not-?’

When he didn’t reply, she paused, and then resumed. Gentle, mechanical. Quite determined. Whilst her hand moved a little faster, her breathing slowed to something patient. Her body lay cool beside him. The pressure was perfect. He could have enjoyed it very much.

 _Just stop it, just stop it. Don’t you understand?_ He stilled her wrist, squeezed it affectionately, and returned the hand to her side of the bed. ‘I’m sorry.’ He had remembered to infuse a note of apology; that was good. That kept a conversation at bay.

He turned over, relieved to have failed.

Soon, though, he opened his eyes, and waited. The silence was incomplete. There was something she was going to say. He didn’t know what, but he thought he had enough ready responses.

‘How much of it was true?’

He took a half-breath, not visible to her. ‘What?’

‘What they said. What was written. About back then.’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t read the papers.’

‘No?’

‘I read enough to…not want to read any more.’

‘I remember some of that, you know. Before I met you. Kinda a fun story for people. Hallowe’eny, you know. School gates and…supper chat, whatever. But some people- I dunno.’

‘More than Hallowe’eny?’

‘They found it-’ Her exhalation had the shape of a laugh, but it was really an expulsion of tension. ‘Romantic.’

It was very easy to sound stable. ‘According to the literary definition, I suppose. All of us dealt in…the sublime.’ He shrugged. Self-evident. All in a day’s work.

‘Literary.’

‘I think people were, uh, intrigued. Death and art. Those big ideas. That’s why people liked him. Terror and…whimsy. The confidence to do something ridiculous.’

‘I can’t say it was _my_ thing. You know that.’

‘Yes. That’s _why_ , Molly. That’s why I’m here.’ His voice swelled and he was speaking the truth. ‘With you, it’s like…time’s reversed, somehow.’

He heard her dry, difficult swallow. She shifted, and drank from the glass by her bit of the bed. The cold gulp and wash of liquid down her throat. The insides of them so loud in the dark. ‘But how much of it was true?’

‘Molly.’

‘I don’t think you answered the question.’

‘We never- I thought we understood that-’

‘Oh yeah? I haven’t before, so I can’t ask now?’

‘I don’t know what to tell you.’

‘Why not tell me everything?’

‘ _Everything_ ,’ he exhaled. It sounded so derisive. He hadn’t meant it to.

‘Okay. Tell me less, then. Tell me…’ Quieter, now. She didn’t want to give the topic voice.  ‘What happened between you.’

‘Why do you want to know that?’

‘I don’t think I do. But maybe I need to.’

‘Need.’

‘Maybe. If I want to know you.’

‘You already married me. You knew enough.’

‘Why is he the only thing we don’t talk about?’

‘He’s not the only thing we don’t talk about.’

Stillness.

He knew it would wound – but it wasn’t meant to hurt. She had been pushing for it, and here it was. Some truths are so sharp, you don’t even feel the thrust. Just a little sting, later, as the blood warms to the blade. Keep the knife in. Accept the knowledge. Grow around it. That’s the way to survive.

He focused on an arbitrary point on the wall, and wondered if protecting her was something he could honestly admit to.

‘Have you heard from him?’

‘No.’

‘Do you want to?’

‘No. I told you. I wanted to be free of him. I never wanted to have him in my head for longer than…was necessary.’

She shifted herself upright. ‘How honest do you think I am with you?’

‘Enough. I’ve never questioned it.’

‘He wrote to you.’

His eyes drifted from the wall, scattering as his thoughts cascaded.

She continued. ‘I read one of them. The others I didn’t. But I got rid of them all, anyway. Burned them.’

His last breath faded through his limbs. He heard the pristine silence, before the blood nudged his muscles into drawing another, audible inhale.

There was wit in it, the thought that this magnificence of a man could be rendered non-existent by her. That his incantations could be so casually deflected by the flick of her nimble little thumb on a lighter. That all those beautifully crafted inevitabilities might be so effortlessly dismissed. Will wondered whether he might laugh.

But then he realised that the laugh would be in Hannibal’s honour. Because his message had still gotten through. Here it was, hand-delivered. Lifted off the stationary by Molly’s incisive mind. Filtered, sorted, stored. Packed away by her natural intolerance for melodrama.

Yet the letters had already emptied their meaning as they twisted merrily in the flames. They’d lived their firefly lives; brief, pretty conduits of an invasive truth. Happy to die after finding their place to lay. There was nourishment amongst Molly’s gentle doubts. And now the hatchlings glowed as they emerged.

Will knew he could not ask what the letter had read. Will knew that if he asked, he would want to know. And if he wanted to know, that was the snag to unthread the life they had woven.

Her mouth was sticky as she spoke. ‘Did I do the right thing?’

‘Yes. Definitely. It’s what I would've told myself to do too.’

‘What you would have told yourself to do.’ With her next words, he heard that she'd turned her head to the opposite wall. ‘I always liked that you didn’t lie.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (and now I imagine soundtrack!Will going off to listen to Cat Stevens "Trouble". With a whiskey, bien sûr!)


	2. A sum of broken pieces

Will flicked on the kettle and heard the filament rush the water with heat. He closed his eyes, and envisaged the early effervescence gathering along the shining steel. Shining, because he had de-scaled it yesterday, while waiting for the hardware store to ring about the drill bit. The rolling water leapt in familiar yet stochastic peaks. The outcome was always the same but a pattern was never discernible. Will wondered if he could tell when the crescendo would click the kettle off. He waited, he listened.

‘Now.’

He was out by two seconds. He opened his eyes and got back to making coffee. The hot rope of water glistened into the cafetière. A rich soft sound of wetted grounds gave rise to a steam of vanilla and hazelnut. Will stirred once, then put his hands in his pockets and watched the crema form along the swirl. When it slowed, he went to the fridge for milk. He poured Molly’s single helping into the smallest pan, and set it on a low simmer.

As the milk warmed and the coffee brewed, he looked at Walter’s old drawing on the fridge. Two globular characters on stick legs had met under a stripe of thick blue sky. A man brandished a bat at an inverse angle. Its prominence commemorated him as forever ready, willing, and able. The man’s other hand connected with the spindle fingers of a woman, identifiable by her buttercup hair. A heart as brimming and brash as that of a transcendent Catholic martyr hung in the air beside her head, marking her as blessed.

The milk bubbled and he turned off the gas. There was a clunk, and then another, audible beneath him. Molly piling logs under the porch. _Clunk_. Pause. Pause. _Clunk_. She was methodical, like Will – but quick and light. Her movements lacked the sombre attention with which he imbued his rituals.

 _Clunk_. Pause. Pause. _Clunk_.

Molly laying down another season of life for them, piece by piece. Existence here was hard and simple. Will liked the limitations which winter imposed. Against snows so vast, and air so fine, every action seemed symbolic. Every life a deliberate mark on a canvas.

 _Clunk_. Pause. Pause. _Clunk_.

Molly under the house. Protecting them all from the ground up.

He remembered the stories he had read long ago. Tales from hot tangled climates, cluttered with life and colour. The bejewelled jungles of India, opulent gardens of Persia, and gilded palaces of Byzantium. Words which had glamorised and exacerbated his craving for complexity. Those days when he had been sick with sensation, relentless ambition, and purpose. Before he had thrown himself clear enough of his beginnings that he could start to long for an ending.

> _One day, a high summer flood washed him out of the burrow where he lived with his father and mother, and carried him, kicking and clucking, down a roadside ditch. He found a little wisp of grass floating there, and clung to it till he lost his senses._

_Clunk_. Pause. Pause. _Clunk_.

He poured their coffees and added her milk. Then he carried them carefully outside.

The cold was dry and refreshing, and tinged with wood smoke from their burner.

‘How you getting on?’ he called.

‘First batch done. Figured I’d do a load more while I’m in the mood.’

‘You need me to pick up Walter?’

‘Charlotte’s dropping him back.’ She straightened, her breath clouding round her smile. ‘One of those for me?’ She took the cup carefully; drank, and sighed. ‘Ah. You’re the best.’

‘You want help?’

‘I’m fine.’

He watched in silence as she stacked the last of the batch. He looked beyond the tessellation, through the irregular gaps, along the maze of knots and swirls, and into the infinitely graded shadows, until he realised that he had stopped listening to her.

‘Will?’

‘Hm? Yeah. Nothing planned.’

‘Great. I’ll let them know.’

She hauled a cylinder of pine from the heap to the left of the stump, inspected it for irregularities, and rolled the worst of them away from her. Then she levered the axe out of its resting place, and got ready to swing. ‘This is really sharp, by the way. Thank you.’ She sunk the blade into the centre of the pine, along the straightest grain. ‘A lot faster.’

And it only took another two cuts to halve the pine block. After that, a new wedge fell away with every strike. Swing, fall, _split_. Swing, fall, _split_.

> _“Those who kill snakes get killed by snakes,” said Chuchundra, more sorrowfully than ever. “And how am I to be sure that Nag won't mistake me for you some dark night?”_

Will watched her, and drank his coffee. Captivated by the rhythm and stillness and warmth. Lulled a little backwards; compelled a little forwards. ‘I can’t tell you everything, Moll. You understand that.’

Her swing went wide, but her voice stayed steady. ‘Yeah.’

‘It was a sum of broken pieces, which never really fit together.’

‘I see.’ Swing, fall, _split_.

‘Thought I was more use that way.’

‘Everyone’s a little cracked here and there, right? But full-on broken doesn’t sound much use to anyone.’ Swing, fall, _split_. ‘No offence.’

‘No.’ His coffee was cooling now, faster than he had prepared to have this conversation. ‘In terms of…’ – he squinted at a distant tree for the phrase – ‘the way things were… It was blurred. Probably more than I realised. But it was the way it had to be. For me to do what I did, back then.’

She lifted an eyebrow. ‘No names?’

‘We know what we’re talking about.’

‘Hannibal.’ Swing, fall, _split_. ‘Lecter.’

‘He was my friend. Even when…he really wasn’t.’

‘Well. I get that.’ She laughed then, and it was lovely, like bells. ‘I mean, my examples are more high school and backpacking, but yeah – I get that.’

Will watched the flex of tendons as her supple hands wielded the weight of the blade. He felt how the grain would cleave before the edge had even touched it, as if the ripping fibres were the strands of his own muscles pulling apart, as if the glowing patina of exposed wood was the newly peeled silk of his own organs.

Her eyes met his again, and a frown flickered through her. He didn’t know what his look had contained, so he turned away. ‘My coffee’s pretty cold. You want a refill?’

‘No.’ She sunk the axe back into the tree stump, and propped herself up on one leg. ‘Carry on.’

‘On? Well, he’s– It’s not really something I need to talk about.’ Then, in response to her enquiring look, ‘but you asked.’

‘I did. Although I think I knew the answer anyway.’

He nodded, faintly.

‘You had some balls, Will. You did what you had to do and you came out the other side. Things happen and we survive them.’ She wiped the sweat from the side of her nose, then got back to work. ‘He happened, and you survived him. And that must really piss him off.’

There was a shape in the sky, hovering on an updraft. A red-tailed hawk, or perhaps a peregrine falcon. Will wondered whether it was watching him back. ‘“It is the hardest thing in the world to frighten a mongoose, because he is eaten up from nose to tail with curiosity.”’

She blinked at him, but wasn’t fazed. ‘Is that right?’

‘It’s a story.’

‘Curiosity, hey? I suppose I woulda been curious. I mean, it was your _job_ to be curious.’

He brought his attention back down to the blade. ‘It was hard to know exactly what my job was.’

‘Right. But isn’t that sometimes how work gets done?’

‘It is.’ He took his last mouthful of cooled coffee. ‘Though I could have done without the history of European art and cuisine lecture series.’

‘Hey – didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s trashy to dis your ex?’

‘My ex?’ His grimace wavered around a smile. ‘Molly– Be serious.’

‘Serious? No way.’

‘No way?’

‘No.’ Axe up, round, and _split_. ‘Fuck him.’

His gaze was steady now, and when she had finished her swing, she matched it.

He smiled, and held out his hand. She came to him. Put her arms under his, and her head on his chest.

The hawk, or the falcon, had dropped out of sight. The only thing to see was the deep glass blue of the sky. He breathed into her hair. ‘I love you, you know.’

‘Mm.’ She pulled a little deeper, and then let go. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

He took her empty cup, and the kiss to go with it.

> _If you read the old books of natural history, you will find they say that when the mongoose fights the snake and happens to get bitten, he runs off and eats some herb that cures him. That is not true. The victory is only a matter of quickness of eye and quickness of foot -snake's blow against mongoose's jump- and as no eye can follow the motion of a snake's head when it strikes, that makes things much more wonderful than any magic herb._

Back in the kitchen, he washed their cups, and put them side by side on the draining board.

> _Rikki-tikki put his paws one on each side of the egg, and his eyes were blood-red. “What price for a snake's egg? For a young cobra? For a young king-cobra?”_

He watched the water drips gather along the lips, and the creamy surface gradually fade to dry.

> _Nagaina spun clear round, forgetting everything for the sake of the one egg._

He took a cup, and turned it slowly against a kitchen towel, to make it shine. The china had been decorated with a craquelure glaze, which of course was purely surface, purely affectation.

> _“Tricked! Tricked! Tricked!” chuckled Rikki-tikki._

The cups were strong and well-made. They wouldn’t break unless dropped.


	3. Takes two

He stretched across her side of the bed, still naked but loosely warmed by covers. She was back in her underwear, after he’d derailed her first attempt at packing with a languid twenty minutes of sex. 

He could still feel the press of her on him, radiating and real. He could wrap himself in that for days. A cloak of love, fading just in time for her return. He was starting to believe he could wrap himself that way for years. Maybe all the years left to him.

She reached for items and scrambled them into the suitcase. Then stood in front of the wardrobe, chewing her thumb.

He watched her gently. ‘Haven’t chosen your dress yet?’

Hangers clattered as she reviewed her options. ‘Yeah whose fault is that?’

‘Takes two.’

She ‘hmm’ed a little laugh. ‘Well, I'm _sure_ the check-in staff will understand. And _all_ the passengers.’

He stretched back, and his smile broadened into something stable.  When they’d first met, this was the kind of meaningless exchange he’d forgotten how to do. It had still confused him, to talk without consequence. 

Though in earlier years he’d adapted quickly and painfully to the rough-and-easy chat expected in the police - and later, his gallows humour had carried him through his Forensic Science student days - the move into teaching had gotten him back to hermetic routines. By the time he'd begun consulting for the BAU, he’d no longer cared about trying to chat. Even seemed better not to - Jack wasn’t interested in discussion, only answers.  Perhaps Beverly had been a reminder of the casual exchanges he’d sometimes achieved at the University. And obviously Alana had been a woeful attempt at more. 

But after them, of course, "conversation" had become another thing entirely...

So it was lovely now, having words escape him so aimlessly. Not feeling them handed back to him, sharpened, blade first. No lives pivoting on a phrase.

Molly was dressed, and packed - but had clearly forgotten something, and was staring into the void of the suitcase.

His face shifted back into fondness as he gave her the answer. ‘Jane’s gift.’

‘Oh shit - yeah.’ She looked mildly alarmed. ‘I never even told you!’

’Yesterday. You were looking for wrapping paper.’

‘Right. Well. Anything else I should know? You got a weather gauge in there? Lottery numbers?’

His frown flickered into an amused grimace. ‘You will meet a dark, handsome stranger…’

She laughed, and zipped the case. ‘Sure you’re okay to take Walter to his game? It’s fine for Charlotte to take him. Don’t want you to feel obliged.’

‘Obliged?’

‘Sorry - you know what I mean.’

‘I want to. I like to.’

She leaned over and kissed his forehead. ‘Sure.’ She took a breath, then released some thought on the exhale, to which he didn't have access. ‘’K I think that’s everything.’ She checked the time. ‘Oh, not so bad. Got time for a coffee, I reckon. You want?’

‘Sure. I’ll be down.’

*

She phoned on the second night, with a party in the background. ‘Heeeey, stranger.’

‘Hey,’ he smiled. ‘How’s everyone?’

‘Fine. Asking after you. Dancing a lot.’

‘You drunk?’

‘What?’ she chided. ‘No! Just a bit, you know.’

He laughed deeply, long sunk into the cushions with his book. ‘Why not?’

‘ _You_ drunk?’

He looked at the bottle of whiskey, a quarter lower than an hour ago. ‘Probably should be.’

‘Is something going on?’

He stretched. ‘No, no. Everything’s fine.’

‘Good.’

‘Walter’s at Eric’s. They lost the game, so I thought he needed some company.’ He took another drink. 

‘Awh. Thanks for that. Any fishing today?’

‘It's raining hard. I’ll go tomorrow, if it lifts.’

‘Good to give them a chance to get complacent.’

‘Right.’

There was a lull.

‘Will?’

He clenched his teeth against the question he’d been ignoring all day. Felt it swell in his mouth and push against his tongue. Knew the damage, but said it anyway. Drunker than he thought, then. ‘Molly.’ He closed his eyes. ‘How'd you do it?’

‘What, Will?’

He pushed a finger against the rim of the glass. ‘The letters.’

In the background, someone spoke merrily, and she chatted back. Then her voice was nearer again. ‘Sorry, what were you saying?’

‘There were letters.’

He heard the silence as she realised what he was talking about. ‘Right. But you said…you’d have done the same.’

That wasn’t quite what he’d said - but he allowed a quick nod.

‘Will, I’m…not saying I was right. I’ll apologise…if you want me to.’

‘No. No.’

‘Okay.’ He heard the little lip pop she did when she was nervous. ‘Well. Shall we talk about it later?’

‘Nah. Let’s not spend more time on it than we need to.’ He swallowed more whiskey. ‘Though, it was…fine, the other day. Talking. You made it easier than it might’ve been.’

She tried to laugh. ‘I _married_ you, remember?’ Then her voice went quiet and supportive. ‘Will. I _want_ to understand.’

Will looked sideways, and found Hannibal’s garnet eyes, rich with amusement, his head tilted in polite acknowledgement, smiling a precise balance of question and answer.

Will washed him away with the rest of the glass. ‘Let’s just focus on the good things, Molly.’

He felt her struggle for a different topic - then give in to the heavy space between them. ‘Look, I tried to protect you. Maybe it was stupid. I just wanted you to have a fair chance, after all Jack put you through. I thought he owed you that much.’

Now the question was redundant: he knew how she’d done it.

‘Will?’

‘I understand.’

‘Are you-?’

‘-Okay?’ he scoffed. ‘Yeah.’ Then warmer, with apology and just enough sadness: ‘I’m okay, Molly. Really.’

‘Alright. Shall I tell you ’bout things here?’

‘Sure,’ he said, and let the rest of the phone call drift into pleasantries.

*

With half the bottle gone, he wandered into the kitchen, and made a grilled cheese sandwich, humming as he sliced the cheddar. It was a song half-remembered; something Molly had on record, probably. 

While the sandwich heated, he searched her collection until he found what was in his head. He didn’t have the title, but knew it was Nick Drake. He took down an album and placed it onto the turntable. It crackled and popped into life. 

He watched the cheese melt and get brown, and let the music sway him into inebriation. 

When the thing was ready, he settled into a chair and ate it alongside the second song. He closed his eyes in appreciation of the hot mix of sound, drunk, and food. Good to listen to it loud like this. The arrangement was more than he’d remembered, and kept his concentration. He flowed up and down on the strings, and let the trails of other thoughts fade to dusk.

*

The next day, the rain dripped to a halt. The light found its way back through the wood, and showed him which paths had been closed and opened by the deluge. He stood at the kitchen window and watched for deer.

Later, he poured the last of his coffee, picked up the phone, and tried the first town which came to mind.

A woman answered quickly. ‘Hello, Post Office?’

‘Uh - just want to check something. I…lost our key to the business PO Box. Bag was stolen.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir. We have a lock replacement service. It’s thir-’

‘-Actually been thinking we might close it down. Don’t direct much mail there anymore.’

‘You’d need to do that in person.’

‘Hmm. What about transferring to another box? We’re moving soon. Could we do that by form?’

‘Before we look at options, I need the name and address?’

He gave “Graham”, and the current house, hoping Molly’s intent on a new life under his name had extended to admin.

It had. But it didn’t get him all the way. ‘According to this, your wife is the only box holder.’

He licked his lips. Then he laughed gently, forcing himself to sound relaxed. Suddenly, he was. ‘Oh okay. Yeah this happens. _I’m_ the account holder. It's Graham Molly.’

He needed more distraction to keep things flowing. He picked up the dog leads, and walked to where they slept in a soft pile. They cocked their heads, then whined, then beat their tales and started barking.  He laughed again, charmingly preoccupied. ‘Sorry; hang on!’ He leaned down and scrunched their fur so that she heard their collars tinkle. 

He didn’t know whether she’d have a copy of Molly’s photo ID on screen. If so, she’d probably report him. That would be a conversation with Molly, at the least. Probably with someone more official. Worst of all, with Jack.

He rose back up, and lowered his hand to signal quiet. The happy clamour subdued into pines and yawns.  ‘Sorry; so many dogs we’ve got here. Overdue their walk. Miss their mom, I think.’

‘No problem. Right, we can update your name. Sorry about that; I think we must’ve-’

‘Nah, don’t worry - just leave it. Probably not concentrating when I filled out the form.’

‘So what were you looking to do, sir?’

‘I’ll come in. Sounds easier in person. Bring the dogs.’

‘Sure. Yeah.’ She sounded glad at the prospect. ‘You know our opening times?’

He strode back towards the dogs with an expectant face, and their barking resumed. ‘Sure,’ he shouted happily. ‘Box 104, right?’

‘Sir? Can you hear me?’ 

‘Our box number, right?’

‘It’s Box 380 we have here-’

‘Okay, yes. Thanks for your help.’

*

Three hours later, he’d found three different keys. They each matched the photo from his internet search, and no locks in the house.

He placed them in a row, and stared. 

Then swept them into his pocket, and left to pick up Walter.

There was a hardware store on the way which did copies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the “Honestly, Molly, I Only Want Him For His Handwriting...” series.
> 
> I don’t know anything first-hand about the USPS (being a Royal Mail girl myself) so please feel free to point out any obvious errors! Otherwise, I am relying on the Thomas Harris trope of friendly employees neglecting their phone security checks XD
> 
> The song in Will’s head was ‘River Man’ by Nick Drake.


	4. Everyone involved

Will walked into the shining woods with a hangover and his rifle. 

His usual path was tangled with fallen branches, so he cut a new one through some ferns, making sure to keep his skin hidden from tics. Another reason not to bring the dogs, despite their leaden stares as he left without them.

Yesterday he’d picked Walter up, driven him home, weathered a sudden strop, let him bang all the doors on the way to his room, easily accepted his later apology, cooked him something healthy enough, and ushered him to bed. 

Then finished the rest of the whiskey reading about animal migration. Then started another bottle watching documentaries on the same. 

That had been too much alcohol to deer stalk. His reflexes would be rotten and his smell worse. 

Today was prep. He had his gun, provisions, and the clothes he’d aired on the house veranda. He’d also leave them outside the cabin overnight, to absorb the scents of the forest. 

Molly was back later today. But she'd return to work tomorrow, taking Walter to school. Then he’d hunt.

He tugged open the cabin door, noting the beginnings of rust on a hinge. There was mildew clouding the window corners, and a slight crack to the glass. But he’d built it methodically and made it reliable, for now. A few seasons, at least. 

He hung his hunting clothes from the porch, then went inside.

Droplets pattered onto the sheet metal roof, followed by an artillery of pine cones. He flinched under the barrage, and exhaled a curse when it bumped to a stop. But he wasn’t spooked. There was no real threat out here. A bear or a wolf might appear, true. But he felt no concern at nature asserting its ancient curiosity. Something lived, or something died. That was no cruelty, no choice. Only the end of one thing and the beginning of another.

He unpacked the food, the cartridges, and the gun. Then he took the glinting copies of the three different keys out of his pocket. One of them might fit. 

He passed a hand across his forehead, shadowing his eyes, and rubbed. Fit what? The PO Box, yeah, sure, but what was the point? What did that have to do with anything now? Why was it necessary for him to patrol this hinterland?

It would only give him a choice. A choice that he’d already made. A choice he didn’t need. A choice that he’d reject.

He reached up and, without looking, hid the keys at the corner of a crossbeam.

* 

Molly was back. Walter heard the music from the car, and pressed up to the window. ‘Let’s go out!’

‘Okay, let me just- Coat, Walter!’

Will followed his bounding onto the porch. Molly’s headlights swept them and they blinked in the glare.

She parked any-old-how and cut the music, grinning. ‘Hey fellas!’ she called, running up to them. Will was at her eye-level, so he got the first embrace, but she put her hand down to gather Walter in too. 

Walter gripped her.

She gave Will an amused look, then gazed down. ‘You alright, buddy?’

Walter pressed his lips together, then hugged her again. ‘Just…missed you.’

‘Yeah?’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Missed you too, bro.’ She put a solid hand on his hair. ‘Not too old for your Mom, yet, eh?’ 

Now he twisted away. ‘It’s not that.’

‘Oh, alright,’ she laughed. ‘Been good for Will?’

Walter shrugged.

Molly consulted her husband for a second opinion. 

‘He’s been great. We were just making fishing lures.’

‘Oh yeah? You could go down this weekend, if it’s all thawed.’ She bristled with cold. ‘Right, I don’t know ’bout you but I’m gonna get warm! And I gotta pee, right now.’

‘Your bags, Mol?’

She hopped up the steps. ‘I’ll come back, don’t worry!’

Will put his hands in his pockets. ‘Shall we get them in for her?’

*

Will prepped dinner, then wrapped up the lures and laid the table, while Molly cooked and danced to to The Beatles’ _Get Back_. Walter slumped at the side of the room, in the glow of a screen, playing some game with headphones. He ignored all calls for dinner. Molly had to clap her hands in front of his face to even get him to look at her. 

Once he’d dragged himself to the table, he ate in cryptic silence, which they interpreted as annoyance. Molly and Will chatted then, leaving loose ends for Walter to follow, not expecting his input.

Until suddenly, he pushed his plate away. He wouldn’t meet their eyes.

Will looked to Molly, who fielded first. ‘What is it, hon?’

‘Why do people kill each other?’

Molly’s eyebrows pulled up. ‘That’s…a question.’

‘I don’t mean, like, war and stuff. Or when they’re angry. I get all that. I mean…why do they want to.’

Will’s face flickered through several reactions, and hoped what settled was honest concern.

Molly stayed fixed on Walter. ‘You been watching TV too late, again?’

That was a slice at Will, but he let it be.

Walter shook his head.

Will frowned. He’d put his books and folders - the ones he’d not been required to destroy or return - on a high shelf in the back of an old wardrobe in the spare room. No temptation for a child to enter, and difficult to discover if he did. Anyway, the content had been redacted to theory and templates. Heavy blocks of text. Nothing lurid. No…visuals.

Now he wondered why he’d kept any of it. Something of a formality, perhaps. Proof of identity. That his past could be evidenced. That his encounters could be summarised, documented, and laid to rest. Moved neatly into a box and stored appropriately in past tense.

Or perhaps he’d been worried that moving into her house without a van-load of things would've seemed suspect. As if he hadn’t been properly ballasted before. As if he might really have been able to drift into another realm. 

That wasn’t him, he’d assured her. He’d always known there was something to come back for; even if he’d not met her yet. He’d talked about Alana, and how he’d messed that up. How he’d realised what was missing from his life. And how it might, with practice, have become possible. He’d admitted to a certain jealousy when she’d gotten involved with his therapist. He’d said it had complicated the investigation. That looking back, he’d seen what a mess it all was.

‘Will?’ Molly prompted.

‘Hm?’

‘You got an answer?’ 

She looked kind, and Will realised that she was giving him the chance of a formative conversation. That she was handing him Walter’s trust.

‘I, uh.’ Will gathered himself, intent on a good job. ‘Yeah, I guess I could help you answer that. It’s not simple.’ Will felt Molly’s smile, and continued. ‘But then if you’re asking, you’re ready to understand, right?’

Walter looked directly at him. ‘Are you famous?’

Will dismissed this with a snort, leaning back. ‘No.’

Molly’s smile faded.

Walter stared at him. ‘Eric said David said his sister said you were.’

‘Well,’ Molly cut in, relieved to give a general corrective, ‘that’s gossip, Walter. People can say all sorts.’

‘She said you killed a girl.’

Will blinked, trying not to let his face give way.

Molly was speechless. Then she made an attempt at re-starting. ‘Wh- She said _that_?’

‘Yes.’

Molly shook her head. ‘Walter… I think she must've got a bit confused, okay? Will’s job sometimes meant having to stop bad things getting worse, right? And it’s very hard, but when the people who protect us need to make decisions about how to keep people safe, you know…it’s complicated. Sometimes people get hurt. But that’s not Will’s fault.’

‘No. That’s not what I’m talking about.’

Molly’s mouth tensed. ‘Then what are you talking about?’

Walter stared fiercely into the table. ‘He’s weird. He’s weird and he’s sad.’

Molly banged the table. ‘Right, that’s it. You’re not talking to him like that.’

‘He’s not my Dad!’

‘Ugh. Nothing to do with it. You’re not talking to _anyone_ like that.’

Walter was crying, but trying hard not to spill a drop. Which meant he couldn’t talk back just yet.

Will put out his hand; level, gentle. ‘Molly, it’s fine. Let’s talk. I’ll do my best. You stop me if…’ He tensed his shoulders into a shrug.

‘You shouldn’t have to do this. I know where this has come from. This is David’s Mom being-’

‘No. Listen. Let’s…try.’ 

Will adjusted his seat so that he was open to, but not confronting, Walter. 

‘Okay. I was- the _team_ I was working on- was in the press. Not “famous”. But when you work for the police-’

‘FBI,’ Walter corrected.

Will smiled. ‘Right. Yes. When you work for a public service, they’re paying for it, and they want to know about it.’

Walter’s glare shifted away. Considering.

‘But the tabloids don’t always care what’s true. Just so long as it…sounds shocking. And that’s something we all had to deal with. But it was easier for me before. Because I didn’t know you’d have to deal with it. But now you are, and…I’m sorry for that. But…you told us. That’s good.’

Walter had been coaxed out of whatever place his fear had flung him. ‘You didn’t kill the girl. Did you.’

There might have been a place for Abigail in this world, too. She might have sat at the fourth chair. She might have added her patch to their quilt of strays. Might have found peace in the forest. Have outgrown the town, soon. Taken Molly's wise instruction, and placidly ignored it all later. ‘No. Never.’

Walter nodded. 

‘I can tell you all the facts another day. I think it’s a bit late now.’

‘I’m old enough, you know.’

‘I know. But one thing at a time, hey?’

‘I’m sorry I called you weird.’

‘Well. Weird’s okay, sometimes.’

Molly leaned over, and held Walter’s arm. ‘So’s sad. You know that.’

*

Molly put her arms around Will while he was brushing his teeth. Her face was contrite, and she hid it in his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry I flipped out. You raise my own child better than me.’

He put his hand on her head, and scrunched her hair.

‘I just don’t want this gossip, it’s too much. You deserve a new start. And Walter…’

Will nodded in understanding, toothbrush working.

She squeezed him. ‘Maybe there might be something you could do. The police round here. Not dangerous stuff. But with your skills… 

Will shook his head and spat, running the faucet to clear the sink. ‘There’s nothing round here. That’s why I like it.’

‘Oh, I don’t mean anything _serious_. I mean, help them out with the things they’re not as trained to-’ She waved it away. ‘Yeah, you know, it was a silly idea, sorry.’

‘You think I don’t do enough?’

‘That’s not it. Not it at all. I just thought it might help Walter to see that his Step Dad’s a real hero, you know? That you put yourself on the line for years. That that deserves some respect.’

He turned so they were face-to-face, and rested his arms around her waist. ‘I see what you’re saying. I see why. I just think it would attract the wrong kind of attention.’

She gave a shallow nod. Not one of agreement.

He waited for the follow-up.

She tugged at his T-shirt. ‘Why did you go to Italy like that? You must’ve known what they’d write.’

‘Like I said, it was only me, then. I…didn’t announce it. But my privacy was worth the sacrifice. To finish it.’

‘Finish it?’ There was a flat second where she turned this over for meaning. Then she smirked, and pulled him close again. ‘Like a vigilante?’

He mirrored her smile, but his voice came from elsewhere. ‘There was a…balance of forces. We needed to redress that.’

‘We.’

‘Everyone involved.’

She watched him, then nodded. ‘I’m tired. See you in a bit.’

He waited until she was in bed, before he closed his eyes.

Freddie Lounds pouted back at him. Haloed, as usual, in her red miasma.

Will imagined all the things he was supposed to have done to her.

“How was my funeral?”

_Fucking fantastic._

She raised her eyebrows then - an unnecessary flourish.


End file.
